


Possess Your Heart

by Aralana765



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, M/M, Spy - Freeform, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:07:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2391110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aralana765/pseuds/Aralana765
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a Tumblr post: Originally Sebastian Moran was hired to infiltrate Moriarty’s ranks, gather inside information and report back to Mycroft. Things get more difficult when he develops a rather unconventional relationship with his new boss. Secrets come out into the light and Moriarty reveals his true hand, a hand that Sebastian has been unknowingly playing into all this time. There is no love just ownership, and Jim owned Seb the moment he entered his office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from a great little gifset on Tumblr. This one right here, made by the wonderful apinchofsanity, in fact: http://apinchofsanity.tumblr.com/post/80615817082/spy-mormor-au-originally-sebastian-moran-was

“Hush now… Hush… I have you now. We’ll get you all fixed up, darling. Good as new.” A slender hand brushed gently through Sebastian’s bloodied hair. “Just hush…”

 

***

 

Sebastian Moran slid gracefully into the chair across from that of Mycroft Holmes. The old oak desk between them hadn ’ t moved in the years Sebastian had been working here. Word was, the desk had been here since the beginning of this particular business, and that it held more secrets than any of the computers on the premises. He liked to imagine the office had been built around the desk,  and that the desk had beaten this devious little business to this place. Of course, that was stupid. But the idea always made him laugh. A big, clunky, carved, oak desk underground, just waiting for someone to dig down deep enough. He ’ d have to ask Mycroft where it came from some day.

 And speak of the devil, there he was. The older man unbuttoned his perfectly pristine jacket, pretentious as always, and sat across from Sebastian.  “You’re recovered, I trust? I know your last mission didn’t go quite according to plan.”

 “Do they ever?”  Sebastian tilted his head with a wry smile.  “I’m ready and roaring, Myc. Send me out. Something exciting would be great.”

 The small, downward twitch of Mycroft’s lips made the possibility of a lecture worth it.  “Do try to keep it professional, Moran. Or you may get a desk job for your next assignment.”

 Sebastian grinned.  “I won’t get a desk job. You need me in the field.”

 There was a quiet huff across the desk.  “Yes. I do. Though you may be wishing I had assigned a desk job when you’re finished with this.”

 “This?”  Sebastian asked, sitting back with a lazy, triumphant smile.

 “You’ll be undercover again. Working for someone far more dangerous than any of your previous  ‘employers'.”  Mycroft pulled a file from an unseen drawer and offered it to his agent.  “James Moriarty.”

 “Moriarty?”  The smile slid slowly off Sebastian’s face as he flipped the folder open.  “As in, the Napoleon of Crime? That Moriarty?”

 “Yes,”  Mycroft replied, his voice taut.  “That Moriarty. We need information on him. At this point, we know very little. Almost nothing, if I ’ m being honest —“

 “You? Honest?”  he joked, glancing over a page.

 “ _However_ ,”  the older man said pointedly, ignoring the interruption,  “we recently were given word that he’s regularly looking for a new bodyguard. He goes through them rather rapidly, sometimes weekly. We’ve managed to get on of our contacts to give you a recommendation, and we know where he will be tonight. You will try to take that position. If you do, you will gather as much intel as you can before he tires of you, and inevitably tries to kill you. We will give you a way to contact us when this time comes.”

 “Well, I should hope so. I don’t want to be killed off. Especially when we know that it’s coming.”  Sebastian flipped the file shut.  “If I’m taking this, I’m going to need free reign. He’s going to have me prove myself. You know that.”  This wasn’t a matter to be taken lightly. While he knew his boss could take care of any repercussions from any bodies he had to leave behind, it was still murder. Still torture. It wouldn’t be the first time. Not by a long shot. But he would still be taking a life. More than one. More names in his file.

 “I do. We can clean up any messes you have to make,”  Mycroft reminded him as he stood.  “I wish you luck. Anthea will give you your cover’s details. And one more thing,”  he called as Sebastian reached for the door. “Whatever you do, Moran, do not make the mistake of underestimating him.”

 Sebastian turned back to his boss and offered his token reckless grin.  “Well now you’re just underestimating _me_ , Myc.”  Then he gave a mock salute, sent one last glance towards the solid desk, and strolled out of the office.

 

***

 

The cover Sebastian was assigned would be easy to keep. Mostly because there was no cover. He was supposed to be himself. It was believed that Moriarty would be able to tell if they faked a background for him. His military history was impressive enough without embellishment, as was his kill count. Before he had been recruited by Mycroft, he had been the most sought-after sniper in all of Europe. Of course, his transfer from the army to Mycroft’s services had been handled as well. Word spread that he had been dishonorably discharged. That, too, would give him some backing when he faced the criminal mastermind. Some of the jobs he had run for Mycroft had worked their way into his file, to explain what he ’ d been up to since leaving the army. Plenty of kills. Plenty of disreputable crime lords, drug lords, and even just famous businessmen as references. As criminal resumes went, it was damn impressive. He knew he could get this job. He was good enough. He just had to make sure that Moriarty knew it. 

 He wandered into the pub that their contact had mentioned and gave a passing glance over the people there before slowly making his way to the bar. No one gave him a second glance and he slid between tables and groups, not focusing on any one person for too long. But he had seen Moriarty. There was nothing particularly special to point out the so-called Napoleon of Crime. He was just a small, thin man in a well-tailored suit, sipping from glass as he read through a pile of papers. There were businessmen like him in every pub in town, trying to finish off just one hour more of work before going home to their wives and kids. In fact, there were two other such men in this very pub, each tucked away in his own corner table. But that one, the one tapping at the table as he scribbled some sort of diagram …  That was Moriarty.

 There was very little evidence supporting that. Mycroft had no pictures of the man. No one really knew what he looked like. Anyone who had seen him was either exceedingly loyal or dead. So Sebastian was relying on a promise that he ’ d be here, and instinct. But he knew.  Those dark eyes noticed everyone coming in or out of the room. There was a smirk tucked away when some idiot said something a little too loud about his miserable job. The suit was a little too pristine for a place like this. That perfectly normal looking man was James Moriarty. 

 Which meant that the bulky guy at the other end of the bar was the current bodyguard. It was no wonder that Moriarty killed off his bodyguards if they were all like this clown. Too far away from his employer to really protect him if something went wrong. Barely aware of his surroundings, beyond the occasional glance towards his boss. Sebastian would be impressed if the man had even noticed him as he brushed up against him. He certainly hadn’t noticed Sebastian lifting his wallet. He used the bodyguard’s money to pay for his beer, then sauntered away from the bar again. And made his way towards Moriarty ’ s table, looking beyond it as though he were trying to reach the table further on. The bodyguard still hadn’t moved. At all. What an idiot.

 It was only when he plopped the bodyguard’s wallet on Moriarty’s table and slid into the seat across from the criminal that the bulky protector even looked in his direction. Seb barely managed to hide the grin of triumph as Moriarty looked up, glancing first at the wallet, then at Sebastian.  “Are you trying to give me your money?”  the short man asked, giving Sebastian a perfectly normal and average reaction: his eyebrows were scrunched and his smile was uncomfortable.

 “Nah,”  Sebastian replied.  “I just thought your big friend over there might start to miss it after a while.”  He jerked his head towards the bodyguard.  “Oh, and I really should thank him for my drink.”  The almost invisible signs of amusement made the agent smile into his glass. The frantic patting of pockets as the bodyguard realized that it was his wallet on the table in front of his boss made Sebastian snort.  “Not very good at his job, is he?”

 “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I came here alone to get some work done.”  If Sebastian hadn’t been watching for it, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the subtle pull on the file to move it further from him.   “ And …  And if you’ve stolen that wallet, you’d probably best return it. That man doesn’t look too pleased.”

 “I should imagine he’s not pleased. But he won’t move until you give the word. Or signal. Whatever. Because he knows you don’t want a scene, and I’m going to take a stab in the dark that he doesn’t know how do not cause a scene. And because he’s no good at his job, so he doesn’t know if I’m armed, so he doesn’t know if I’ll kill you on the spot.”   The sniper lifted his glass in the bodyguard ’ s direction.  “ Which I might. So why don ’ t we drop pretensions, Mr. Moriarty, and get down to business? Let him know to relax. You were told about me, I believe. I was supposed to sit back, but I didn’t want to wait around for word. And I thought this would make a much better impression.”

 It was quite remarkable watching the innocent, unnoticeable man slip away. The figure that replaced him was incredible. His expression had barely changed, but this was clearly the man whose name was only whispered in the darkest of shadows out of fear. This was the man who’d been responsible for at least 86 percent of homicides in this city alone in the past year. No one knew how many deaths he had had his hand in worldwide.  “I suppose so, Mr. Moran. I must admit, I’m impressed that you were able to pick me out. Not many can.”  Sebastian shrugged and set his glass aside.  “What gave me away?”

 “Nothing. The big man sticks out like a sore thumb, but not you.”

 “Are you telling me that you’re  ‘just that good’?”  Moriarty raised a thin eyebrow and closed his file.

 “I might be. I mean, isn’t the whole point of a job interview to impress the new boss?”

 “Is this a job interview, Colonel Moran?”  The criminal’s dark eyes bore into—through—Sebastian as his head tilted. If the sniper were a descriptive sort, he’d say that Moriarty looked very reptilian.  “Is that why you’re here?”

 Sebastian considered his answer. He could sense that the man before him was no longer speaking to him out of amusement. The next few minutes would make or break his assignment.  “Well, Mister Moriarty, why else would I be here? I need a job. And I’d like to have one with the most powerful man in the city. I figure that would keep me in a good place for a while. I’d be well taken care of.”

 Moriarty nodded slowly, tapping a single finger against the table before sitting back in his seat.  “Yes, I suppose you would be. But tell me, Colonel. Why would I want to hire you?”

 Sebastian smiled haughtily, lounging back in his chair.  “Well, sir, I’m an excellent shot. Among other things…”  he trailed off, leaving the rest to Moriarty’s imagination.

 “Other things?”

 The sniper raised an eyebrow.  “You’ve seen my record. I know you have, because you know me, and you know my rank. I have no doubt you’ve looked into my previous work, and seen what I can do. I’ve shown that I know my way around the position. So yes. Other things.”

 Moriarty smirked slightly and turned to his bodyguard before gesturing to him. The man made his way through the tables, his skin much paler than before as he watched his boss warily. No doubt he knew what Sebastian knew: that those who failed Moriarty were soon found in a morgue.  “Mister Sawyer,”  he began when the bodyguard reached the table,  “I believe you’ve lost something.”  Moriarty delicately picked up the wallet, plucked the last few bills from it, and handed it back to its owner. The bills were placed on the table before Sebastian.  “And I believe it’s time for us to leave. Have another drink on him, Colonel.”

 “Sebastian. Call me Sebastian, sir. Or Seb, if you like. Colonel is a little formal, especially since I’ve technically lost the title.”  Seb drained his glass.

 “ I’ll call you what I like, Colonel,”  Moriarty said pointedly as he stood and straightened his jacket.  “Your  ‘interview’  was quite revealing. I suppose I’ll have to give you a chance to prove your worth, won’t I? ”  Seb grinned.  “Yes, I thought so. I’m sure it won’t be too long before you hear from me again.”  Moriarty nodded politely at Sebastian, then made his way out of the pub, followed by his bodyguard. The expression of meek terror was unusual on a man so large.

 Sebastian Moran smirked to himself, and stood to get another beer.


	2. In a Language That You Can't Read Just Yet

A few days passed. It was the first time in a while that Sebastian had any sort of free time away from the job. He took advantage of this reprieve to finally go grocery shopping, clean up his cramped flat, and check over all of his weapons. There were a few little things to be fixed before he saw Moriarty again. He couldn’t risk a mishap at the audition he was sure was coming.

Mycroft had given Sebastian strict orders not to make contact while they waited for word from Moriarty. There was no doubt that the criminal mastermind would be keeping tabs on the sniper, making sure he was who he said he was. So Sebastian kept to himself, living life without a job or a handler or a boss.

And then his phone buzzed.

A text from an unknown number. Probably from one of Moriarty’s lackeys. All it contained was an address, a time, and some advice to ‘finish his interview right’. Seb grinned. 

He was not sure what exactly this audition would be, but he could guess. Since he was aiming for a bodyguard position, he would likely have to fight someone off while protecting someone playing at the boss. Or maybe just the fight. It could be a test of marksmanship. Frankly, it didn’t really matter what the test was, because Sebastian could face it. He could pass it.

He gathered the tools he figured would be most likely to be used: his most easily hidden guns, a few knives, that sort of thing. They were all of good quality, and would hold up to whatever Moriarty threw at him. A small lunch followed his collection of weapons to give him enough strength for the coming test without holding him back. Then he grabbed his jacket and headed out to his motorcycle. The bike was his baby, had been since his first paycheck after signing up with Mycroft. He had been ecstatic to have that much money to blow at any given time, and had made an impulse buy on the gorgeous model. He never regretted it.

He rode out towards a block filled with small businesses and offices. The address he had been given belonged to a building that looked exactly like those around it, with only the number on the door to set it apart. He tucked his bike into a parking space before wandering up to the door with a cheerful whistle. The door was unlocked, and opened to a small office with a receptionist seated behind a small desk, smiling and finishing up a phone call as she gestured for Seb to take a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs tucked against the wall.

He looked around at the small room with a raised eyebrow as he took his seat. There were posters on the wall advertising travel around the world, cruises, locations, payment deals, and the like. This office was a travel agency. James Moriarty was working through a travel agency. Pretty clever, Seb supposed. Access to people all over the world, a casual front for meeting possible clients to collect payments. Not too bad.

The receptionist hung up with a cheerful goodbye and mention of seeing the client soon, then turned to face Sebastian. “Hello, sir. Sorry for the wait. Let me take care of a little paperwork, and you can go right in to see Mister Penn.” She smiled brightly and carried a file into the back office. Sebastian watched her go. Would he have to kill her? Is that what Moriarty would want? Or was he wrong about this place, and Mister Penn would be his victim? Would he have to guess, or would he be given orders? He tugged his phone out of his pocket to check it, though he kept an eye out for any threat. The screen was empty. No new orders. So he pocketed it again just as the receptionist came back out of the office, her smile still in place. “Go on back, sir. Mister Penn is ready for you.”

Seb nodded to her with a charming smile as he slid past the desk to the plain door. He pushed it open slowly, knowing he had more than one weapon within reach should anything happen. But nothing did. Instead, a small man with a salesman’s smile stood and set his file aside. “Ah, there you are. Sorry if we kept you waiting. We had to be sure we had the right man. The boss wouldn't be pleased if we let some stranger walk in, right?” Mister Penn led the way to another door at the back of the office, one that looked like it would lead to a coat closet or bathroom, though once opened Seb could see a small staircase leading down to beneath the ground level.

Seb knew enough to be wary, though the travel agent seemed completely at ease. “Just go on down, sir. Someone will meet you. Have a good day!”

Seb nodded at the man before stepping through the doorway, tugging at his jacket to cover the motion of adjusting the knife at his side to make it more easily removed, then slowly made his way down the spiral stairs. Not a great set up, this. He couldn’t see far enough ahead. But he could tell by the light that he was nearing the bottom. Only one floor down. As he emerged from the stair well into the cavernous room—easily large enough to stretch beneath the building Seb had entered through, and at least two on either side—he raised an eyebrow. The room was filled with men and women organizing crates and boxes. Was this really just a storage unit? A pretentious, secret storage unit?

“Sebastian.” Seb turned and saw Moriarty leaning against the wall beside the stairwell, watching his employees bumble around. “Right on time. Well done. Though the motorcycle is a bit conspicuous.” The criminal turned to face Sebastian, a small smile on his face.

“Could be. If someone were watching me. Which they’re not.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, you never would have let me near any of your property if someone were—not even an over glorified storehouse. So you’ve cleared me. Not to mention that it’s hardly unusual for a man to visit a travel agency. I’ve been considering a cruise for years now,” Seb added wryly.

“Of course you have.” Moriarty pushed himself off the wall gracefully and started for the back of the room. “Come along, Sebastian. You have work to do.”

Seb grinned. “Yes, boss.”

The criminal mastermind glanced back at the sniper. “I haven’t hired you yet, Sebastian. I’m not your boss.”

“No, boss,” he replied with a grin. He would get the job. No question. Moriarty was calling him Sebastian now. He would keep the sniper around, and Seb knew it, especially after he saw Moriarty’s lips twitch in amusement.

“Don’t be impertinent. Come downstairs.” Moriarty opened a plain door in the back corner of the room and led the way down another set of stairs. When Sebastian reached the bottom, he nodded to himself. This was what he had been expecting of a man like Moriarty. There was a single corridor, about the length of the room above it.  On either side of the corridor were rooms and cells, and from what he could see, each contained people who had—no doubt—displeased Mr. Moriarty. “I have someone I would like you to talk to. In here.” He gestured to a door on his right. “I believe you’ll remember him.”

Seb raised an eyebrow and stepped inside the indicated room. Seated at a table was the bodyguard from the bar, stripped down with his hands strapped to the table before him and a gag in his mouth. Judging by the bloodstains on the leather straps, he wasn’t the first to be in this position. Seb shook his head when he saw the look on the guy’s face. “Really? This guy? I know he’s a crap guard, but really?”

Moriarty smirked and stepped into the room behind him, closing the door with a quiet click. “I gave him that position for a reason. Mr. Varley here held a minor security position in my business for two years. One year ago, he began to sell my secrets. It only took one week for my people to find out. So we fed him just enough to try to find out who was buying. It didn’t work, I’m afraid. So I allowed him to get closer. Gave him more valuable information. False, but valuable. I’ve found the group benefiting from his treachery, but I still need a name. Now that we’ve finished the charade of one ‘Mr. Sawyer’, I need you to get it for me. Can you do that Sebastian?”

A second glance at the room revealed a small, rolling tray pushed up against the wall. On it were twenty or thirty different tools that made Sebastian’s lips quirk in a smile. “Oh yes, boss. I can do it.” Torture was something Sebastian excelled at, even if he’d never particularly enjoyed it. If this was his audition, he would get the job hands down. Though, by the looks of it, this guy wouldn’t last too long.

“Then get on it. You have one hour.” 

“I’ll get it in half that.” Moriarty’s approving look gave Seb the encouragement to pull out his own knife instead of selecting one of the blades provided. He’d used this one on plenty of occasions, and knew its feel better than any weapon but his rifle. His victim watched the knife warily as Sebastian stepped closer and spun the blade over his fingers. “Alright, my friend. I have a boss to impress. I’m sure you’ll be willing to help me out with that, won’t you?”

Varley’s mouth moved around the gag, and Sebastian recognized the first round of begging, based on fear, not pain. There was a difference between the two, Seb had found. Fear-begging and pain-begging. Fear-begging gave you bargains and reminders of the victim’s humanity. Pain-begging gave you information, sometimes true, sometimes not. It was up to Sebastian to determine what was useful. Good thing he’d had plenty of practice. Seb pulled the gag away with a smile, and the audible imploring filled the room. “-please, I never meant to hurt anyone! I needed money, I did! And then I couldn’t get out of it! I was stuck! Please, I’ll do whatever you want! Don’t hurt me, please! I have a daughter! She needs me-”

Sebastian whistled quietly, impressed. Varley had already moved through all of the points a torturer was used to at this stage. And he’d only had the gag out for a few seconds. He’d have everything he needed in twenty minutes at this rate. “Yes. She needs you, doesn’t she?” He stepped closer, teasing the knife back and forth in front of Varley’s nose. The bodyguard fell silent instantly. Seb smiled and continued, “So why don’t you tell me what I need to know so I don’t have to carve you up, hm?”

Varley whimpered. “I don’t know their name…”

“No, you don’t, do you? So let’s start small then. Tell me your name.” He tapped Varley’s nose with the tip of his knife.

“Varley. Quincy Varley,” he replied quickly, leaning away from the knife.

“Good.” Sebastian pulled the knife back a little in reward, smirking at the fluttering of Varley’s eyes. Relief. “How long have you worked for Mr. Moriarty? That man there?”

“Thr-“ Varley swallowed, then continued, “Three years.”

Seb glanced at Moriarty, who nodded his confirmation. “Very good, Quincy. See? You’re doing great.” He circled the bodyguard and tapped along his shoulders with the flat of his knife. “Now we’re going to have to ask some trickier questions, alright. And I expect answers, yeah?” The knife tilted up to rest on its tip, pressing until a few drops of blood beaded out. Varley shuddered, then nodded quickly. “How did you talk to your other employer?”

Sebastian’s victim flexed his hands and mumbled, “By text… No, sorry. I meant email. They emailed me a couple years ago. I just replied to that account.”

And there it was. The first lie. The sniper grinned. “Oh no. Try again.” He dug the knife into the back of Varley’s shoulder until it hit bone, and then twisted it until he got a shout. “How did you talk to them?”

“Don’t- They came to me! It- It was mostly email! M-mostly-” he trailed off into a shout as Seb jerked the blade out. “They gave me a phone! I’m sorry! Please stop! They texted when-”

Seb wandered around to face Varley, holding the darkened blade before the former bodyguard’s eyes. “When what, Mister Quincy?”

“When they wanted to meet up,” he replied in a horrified whisper. “They- They made me meet with them.”

“So you’ve seen their face.” Seb grinned and tapped Varley’s nose with the bloody tip of the knife. “Describe him.”

After cringing away, Varley glanced past Seb to focus on Moriarty. “I’m sorry… I never saw his face. I don’t know his name. Please, sir, I had to.”

Seb laughs. “No, Varley, you didn’t. Now be good and look at me. He’s not even here, okay? Just you and me, sharing a few secrets,” he said warmly. “And I realize I forgot to give you the rules. So let me fix that. If you lie, like you just did,” he slid the knife carefully and slowly along the man’s side, splitting the skin. “I get to use my knife. You tell the truth, and I don’t. So. What do you think would be the best thing to do?”

“T-talk… Talk. Tell the truth.” Varley whimpered as Seb pulled the knife away again with a nod. “I did see him. Just once. He,” he swallowed. “He’s tall. Um. White. Small eyes, but a- a big mouth. That’s all I saw. Really. It’s true. That’s all I’ve seen of him.”

Seb nodded slowly and took a step back. “See? I’m a man of my word, aren’t I? Now, I think this is the final question: What is his name?”

“I told you, I don’t know. I don’t know his name. I don’t know! Please stop! I’m bleeding. I need a doctor. Please!”

With a sigh, Seb pressed the knife to Varley’s throat, and the former bodyguard fell silent except for a few pained gasps. “I’m losing my patience, Mister Quincy. Lying is not helping your case.” The knife trailed down his throat, just barely splitting the skin. When he reached Varley’s chest, he dug deeper, and blood poured freely. Seb’s lips twitched in a small smile at the scream. He was smiling. That was not…uncommon, when he thought about it. Seb glanced back at Moriarty’s carefully blank face before looking back at his victim. This was an issue for another time. For now, the screams were thrilling. “What is his name?”

Varley shook his head desperately, pressing his lips together to keep the name from escaping, and Sebastian’s smile faded into a scowl. He pulled his knife away to stab it through Varley’s strapped down wrist. “I said _talk_!” he shouted, hoping to shock his victim into speaking.

The former bodyguard’s scream in pain nearly drowned out Seb’s demand. The smile returned, in full force. “Stefansson! He said he was called Stefansson! That’s all I know! Please stop! I’ll tell you anything!”

Sebastian stepped back, leaving the knife pinning the man to the table. “Boss? Anything else you need to know?”

Moriarty tilted his head, lounging back against the wall as he watched with lazily crossed arms. The smaller man seemed at ease, but there was a spark in his eyes, and Seb knew it was for him. For that grin. “Find out what you can.”

“Yes, boss.” There was a sense of being freed in that order. Seb smirked a little, but could not bring himself to be ashamed of his excitement. If Moriarty wanted him to play, he would play. He walked over to the tray of toys and danced his fingers over them.

“No! Wait! I- I can tell you what you need to know! I can! We always met at a different place, but it was always a coffee shop. He- He threatened to kill my daughter if I stopped telling him what he wanted to know.”

“Did you take money from him for the information you gave?”

“Yes. I needed the money! My daughter-”

“Yes, yes. Your daughter. Everything is for your daughter.” He tested the weight of a hammer in his hand. “But the fact is, you took money to spy on Mister Moriarty here. Now, I’m new to this job, but even I know that’s a big no-no. So.” He tilted his head and presented a crooked grin as he sauntered closer to Varley. “Anything else we should know? Anything that could possibly redeem you?” The former bodyguard’s eyes flitted around the room as he desperately tried to recall anything important. When nothing presented itself, he whimpered. Seb’s grin widened. From the corner of his eye, Seb saw the boss’s do the same.

 “Didn’t think so.” He slammed the head of the hammer into Varley’s knee, shattering the kneecap in one easy blow. The screams Varley emitted were shrill and raw, and it sent a shiver down Sebastian’s spine, and lower. This is what he was good at. When he saw Moriarty start to circle the room for a better angle, he raised an eyebrow. The man nodded in encouragement, and Seb noticed that his eyes were darker. Much darker. Looks like he was enjoying this just as the torturer himself was. Seb wasn’t sure what to do with that. So he returned to his focus to the man before him.

“Please! Pl- I don’t have- I don’t know- Sitko! Sitko talked to- to him. To Stefan-sson. Sitko did it too!” Varley’s whole body shuddered as he slumped in his seat. “It was- it wasn’t just me. Please!”

Seb raised an eyebrow. “So you do know more. Any other names?” He wandered over to the tray again and selected what appeared to be a modified cattle prod.

“No! No one else. Just- they didn’t know I- I knew about him. I he- I heard them talking. Please, make it stop!”

Seb returned to the man’s side. “Remember, Quincy, I don’t hurt you unless you don’t give me what I want. And you just gave me something I want. But I need more-“

“As enormously arousing as it is watching you torture someone, Sebastian,” Moriarty spoke up, looking up at Seb with his heavily-lidded eyes, “we don’t have all day. Finish him.” Arousing? Seb glanced down at the boss’ trousers, and sure enough, there was a slight bulge. And if that made Seb feel a bit hot, that was no one’s business but his own.

Seb found himself giving Moriarty a pout, but set the cattle prod aside without argument. He slid his gun out of the back of his trousers, lazily lifted it, and fired without a second thought. Varley was dead, and Seb felt elated. He put the gun away and tugged his knife free of Varley’s wrist. As he cleaned the blade, he looked at his new boss. “I thought I had an hour.”

“You said you could do it in half that.”

“And I did.” He shrugged, then slid his knife into its sheath before taking his place beside Moriarty. “So did I get the job, boss?”

Moriarty tilted his head and raised his eyebrow slowly. “Yes, I suppose you did. Welcome to the team, Sebastian.” He gestured for Sebastian to follow, then opened the door to leave.

Seb grinned. “Thank you, boss.” He sent one last look at his victim behind him before stepping out behind Moriarty. “So. Arousing, huh?”

“Yes, Sebastian. Arousing. You don’t think I stayed to watch for the information, do you?”

Seb smirked. “Of course not, boss. Though I’m glad you found me…impressive.” And frankly, he was. This wasn’t a reaction he’d ever seen before, either in himself, or in his employers. He had done work like this countless times, but had never found himself enjoying it. Not as far as he could remember. But then, he had never done it under anyone like James Moriarty. He had never looked up to find his boss so completely interested, whether in his work or in him. And even the thought of that look thrilled Sebastian. This was going to be a very interesting job. He just hoped he could figure this out before he botched up his job too completely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm so sorry this took so long. I sort of wrote this right after the first chapter, then lost it in my computer. But I found it again this weekend, so there you are.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I really hope you liked that. I'm planning on continuing it pretty soon, I hope. We'll see.


End file.
